


Mistletoe and Dayquil

by mtothedestiel



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Boyfriends, Christmas, Christmas Decorations, Christmas Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Ice Skating, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Stucky Secret Santa 2014, Veteran Bucky, languageismymistress, steve's faulty immune system
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-21
Updated: 2014-12-21
Packaged: 2018-03-02 17:33:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,062
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2820458
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mtothedestiel/pseuds/mtothedestiel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's three days 'til Christmas, and Steve is coming down with something.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Sore throat

**Author's Note:**

  * For [languageismymistress](https://archiveofourown.org/users/languageismymistress/gifts).



> Hello holiday readers! This fic is my Stucky Secret Santa gift to languageismymistress, who asked for skinny!Steve being his fierce tiny self. I'm almost done, but I couldn't wait to start posting. I hope you like it! Happy Holidays everybody!

Steve wakes up on the twenty-second of December with an itch in his throat and a blossoming sense of dread.  When neither a cool glass of water nor a hot cup of coffee succeeds in soothing the scratchiness, he knows he’s in deep trouble.  

Elbow deep in his kitchen medicine cabinet, he doesn’t hear the sleep heavy footfalls approaching him from behind.  Steve jumps when a strong arm wraps around his waist, only to relax when Bucky starts pressing kisses up the side of his neck. 

“Buck,” Steve exhales, withdrawing his arm from the cabinet with two gel capsules in his closed hand.  He might be coming down with something, but there’s no need to worry his boyfriend just yet.

“Mm…mornin’ punk,” Bucky drawls against Steve’s temple, “Didn’t mean to sneak up on you.”

“Nah, my fault,” Steve digresses, tilting his chin up for a real kiss, “I haven’t put my ears in yet.”

“What? But you’ve got two ears right here,” Bucky declares, placing a wet, smacking kiss on each appendage, “And they look perfect to me.”

“Nerd.”  Steve tugs Bucky’s mouth up where he wants it.  He yelps as Bucky lifts him up onto the counter before setting into the warm, wet, and slightly minty smooch.

Bucky’s long hair is soft against Steve’s fingers as they trade kisses.  He’s careful not to mess up the loose knot Bucky keeps it in, as much as it turns Steve on to watch his boyfriend twist his wayward locks back into place one-handed.

The movement of Bucky’s deft fingers down his spine teases a little moan from Steve’s lips, and he flushes, hiding his smile against his boyfriend’s t-shirt.

“What?” Bucky asks, grinning as Steve noses at his collarbone.

“Nothin’,” Steve murmers, “Morning’s are a lot nicer when you stay over, is all.”

“The feelin’s mutual, pal.”  Bucky drops one more kiss on top of Steve’s head before stepping away to crack open Steve’s fridge. 

“How about some eggs and bacon?”

“And he cooks too,” Steve marvels, slipping off the counter, “What a man I’ve got.”

“Gotta get some protein in you if we’re still going ice skating,” Bucky says, propping open the door with his hip so he can grab the egg carton. “Unless you’re too _sore_ ,” he adds with a lascivious wink.

“Don’t flatter yourself,” Steve chides with a light smack on Bucky’s ass.  After eight months with Bucky it takes a little more than last night’s round of lazy after dinner sex to put Steve out of commission.  Unfortunately the playful exchange reminds Steve of the part of him that _is_ sore.  Spending the day wearing himself out while exposed to the December elements is probably not the best way to aid Steve’s flagging seasonal immune system, but he doesn’t have the heart to cancel Bucky’s plans.

“Want me to do the bacon?” Steve offers, dropping the aforementioned protein on the counter next to the stove.

“I got it,” Bucky waves him off, “But I’ll take some coffee, if you’re pouring.   And maybe get the juice?  You know how I feel about twist tops.”

“Sure thing.”  Steve kisses Bucky’s shoulder just above the empty left sleeve of his sleep shirt and gets to work, pulling out two plates and getting Bucky’s coffee (black, with a heaping spoon of sugar).  He runs back to his room to slip in his hearing aid and grab his pill box from his bedside table.  

Steve waits until Bucky’s focused on frying eggs to sneak two Day-Quil along with his regular meds.  By the time they’re plating up breakfast, Steve’s sore throat is fading.  Hopefully he can keep his immune system shored up until the twenty-sixth.


	2. Fatigue

Here’s the thing: Steve can’t be sick for Christmas.  It’s him and Bucky’s first holiday season together as a couple, and if Steve has to spend it in bed wheezing it’ll ruin everything because, as Steve has been warned by several mutual friends, Bucky _loves_ Christmas.   

So Steve bundles up, slipping a pair of thermals under his Fairisle sweater, and a thick scarf around his neck, with his inhaler and an extra dose of Dayquil in his coat pocket. 

 “You ready yet?” Bucky calls from the front room, “Sheesh.”

“I’m comin’, I’m comin’,” Steve grunts, tugging a hat down over his ears as he meets his boyfriend at the front door.  Bucky’s ready and waiting, the left sleeve of his black pea coat already neatly pinned up and a bright red scarf at his throat.  He laughs as Steve emerges from the bedroom, wiggling to try and get comfortable under all his layers.

“You look like a marshmallow,” Bucky teases, shoving Steve’s hat down over his eyes.

“Jerk,” Steve scowls, flushing as he shoves Bucky off him, “You won’t be laughing in an hour when you fall on your ass and you got no padding.”

“Nah, you’ll see,” Bucky grins, “I’m the picture of grace.”

* * *

 

Bucky is, of course, one hundred percent right.  Once they step out onto the ice he’s skating circles around Steve, perfectly at ease despite only having a single arm for balance.  It’s downright unfair, in Steve’s opinion.

“How are you so good at this?” Steve grumbles, making hesitant strides across the bumpy ice, “I still feel like I’m gonna fall over every second.”

“I played hockey when I was a kid,” Bucky admits, spinning around to skate backwards in front of Steve, “It kind of stays with you.  Besides, my physical therapist didn’t mess around.  I could probably walk a tightrope without falling over.”

As the morning goes on the ice gets more and more crowded.  School’s out for Christmas break, so there’s a ton of families, not to mention roving groups of middle schoolers.  It’s nice to see all the young kids in their winter gear, and the couples like Steve and Bucky enjoying the holiday season.  The pair of them don’t need too much space, so Steve’s not bothered. 

Not bothered, until a toddler behind them gives off an ear-piercing shriek with no warning.  

Steve winces, but it’s plain that no one is hurt.  Just an over excited kid.  Unfortunately, Bucky goes absolutely rigid beside him.  Without his boyfriend’s support Steve almost falls.  He manages to catch himself, and guides a disoriented Bucky to the edge of the rink.  Bucky clings to the narrow ledge, muscles tense.

“Steve?” Bucky’s eyes are distant. “What happened?”

“Hey, Buck.” Steve keeps his voice even and soothing.  “Everything’s fine.  Some kids got a little rowdy behind us is all.  See?”

Steve guides Bucky’s line of vision to the bundle of little kids that just passed them, a bedraggled mom in tow.  He can see the mother gently scolding one little boy in a bright blue snow suit, no doubt their mysterious screamer. 

“Look, they’re okay.  Just playing,” Steve emphasizes quietly, taking Bucky’s hand, “Take a minute.” 

Bucky squeezes tight, but his eyes clear as he takes in his surroundings.  Eventually he lets go of the rail as he regains his balance, and offers Steve a small smile.

“Sorry,” he mumbles, embarrassed.

“It’s fine,” Steve assures him, “You wanna take a break?  We can get some coffee.”

“I’m good,” Bucky answers, “The noise…just took me by surprise.  That kid’s gotta set a lungs.”

“No joke,” Steve agrees, and the pair continues on in an easy loop around the arena.  Bucky holds onto Steve’s hand for a while longer, but soon he’s smiling and laughing like nothing happened, too focused on coaching Steve’s skating technique.  Steve’s legs start to remember the rhythm from skating as a little kid with his folks.  He’s not exactly elegant, but soon Steve’s not leaning on Bucky quite so much. 

“Look at that,” Bucky declares, moving now with only a light hand on Steve’s back, “You’re a natural.”

“Yeah, a natural klutz,” Steve counters, feet skidding before he manages to find his stride again.  Bucky turns around again, skating backwards so Steve can center himself where their hands are clasped.  If Steve was being honest, he could probably skate just fine on his own by now, but he liked holding Bucky’s hand.  And the view at this angle wasn’t bad either. 

Steve is distracted from appreciating Bucky’s muscular thighs by another group of rambunctious kids not too far away.  These kids are older than the other bunch though, and their jeering doesn’t sound like harmless fun. 

“Steve?”  Bucky has his back to the three boys, who seem to be crowding a curly-haired girl in a pink jacket.

“Hang on,” Steve says, letting go of Bucky’s hand to go investigate. 

“Hey, you guys wanna leave her alone?” Steve calls, approaching the group with more confidence than he really feels on ice.  The girl looks to be about nine or ten, and about as comfortable on skates as Steve.  The three boys don’t look much older, but they’re clearly more practiced on their hockey skates.

“Aw we’re just having fun,” one of the boys pipes, up, annoyed that a “grownup” showed up to ruin the good time. 

“It doesn’t look like she’s having much fun,” Steve shoots back, “Are you?” 

“Not with these guys bugging me,” the girl agrees.  She’s clinging to the low rink wall, clearly uncomfortable with the three boys invading her personal space. 

“You heard her,” Steve says, giving the pre-teens his best glare, “Why don’t you guys leave her alone, and we can all skate without ruining anybody’s day.”

One sour looking kid opens his mouth like he’s about to tell Steve to take a hike when an arm wraps around Steve’s waist.  Steve stands a little steadier with his boyfriend backing him up. 

“Everything okay over here?” Bucky’s using his ex-Army sniper voice, and the kid shuts his mouth with a snap.

“We’re good,” Steve assures his boyfriend, “These guys were just moving on.  Right?”

With both men staring them down, the boys’ courage quickly flees, and they scramble off to the other end of the rink without any more lip. 

“Are you okay?” Steve asks, joining the little girl on the wall for balance, “I’m Steve, and this is Bucky.”

“Sheila, and I’m fine,” she replies, “I know those boys from school.  They’re a pain in my butt, but I wasn’t scared or nothing.”

“Is somebody here with you?” Steve asks.

“Yeah, my mom,” Sheila explains, “She went to get some hot chocolate, but I wanted to try and skate some more.  I need the practice.”

Steve laughs.  “You and me both,” he says, indicating his shaky legs, “Tell you what.  Why don’t you take a lap with us?  Buck’s a real good skater, he can give us both some pointers.  And we’ll make sure those guys leave you alone ‘til your mom gets back.”

Bucky holds Sheila’s hand, and they make their way nice and slow until Sheila feels ready to let go of the ledge.  She falls, once, but then so does Steve, and they all laugh as Bucky carefully helps both novice skaters back to their feet. 

They make it all the way around the edge of the arena before they hear a concerned voice calling Sheila’s name.

“That’s my mom,” Sheila declares, then surprises Steve and Bucky with a hug, “Thanks for the lessons!”

Sheila takes the last straightaway without any help, making it slow but steady to the opening platform where a dark, curly-haired lady was waiting with two Styrofoam cups.  Steve turned away to find Bucky staring at him with a funny expression.

“What?” Steve asks as Sheila and her mom wave goodbye from outside the skating rink.

“Nothin’,” Bucky replies, wrapping his arm around Steve’s waist as they take one more lap, “You’re just really something, you know that?”

They glide around for a while longer, until Steve’s teeth start to chatter and Bucky decides it’s time to retire back to his apartment for hot soup and coffee.  Steve’s energy is flagging by the time they get to Bucky’s place, but luckily his boyfriend assumes it’s just Steve’s typical post-exertion sleepiness.  Bucky gets to work on some grilled cheeses while Steve peels off most of his extra layers, warming up a little now that he’s out of the elements.

Steve is breathing easier after a puff from his inhaler, and his sore throat hasn’t returned.  In its place, Steve can feel some congestion in his chest, but he takes his spare Day-quil and puts on a brave face.  His body might not be up to par today, but he’s still brimful of good feelings from spending the day with Bucky.    

They eat leaning up against the radiator in the kitchen, thawing out while they eat grilled cheese and sip tomato soup out of mugs. 

“You mind sticking around, help me put up some more decorations?” Bucky asks when they’re washing dishes, “I could use an artistic eye.”

Steve’s chest gives a little warning wheeze, but Steve’s not ready for the day to be over yet, so he agrees.

Steve and Bucky had spent the weekend after Thanksgiving decorating both their apartments, at least with the basics.  Steve didn’t have any family to go visit at Christmas, so Bucky helped him put up a little table tree with lights and garland, and then they went to Bucky’s and did the same.  Bucky needed more decorations for the party he was throwing on Christmas Eve.  Apparently it was kind of a famous get together, at least with Bucky’s friends and group members down at the local VA chapter.  Steve had hand painted the invitations this year as an early Christmas gift, which had resulted in one of the best blowjobs of his life.

Steve and Bucky spend this afternoon putting up an obscene amount of lights and garland in Bucky’s apartment.  All the windows get lined with colored lights, and covered in paper snowflakes that Steve cuts expertly with Bucky’s kitchen shears.  It takes all three of their collective arms to get the heavy faux Christmas tree garland to hang straight over the archway between the kitchen and the main room, then attach strings of plastic bulbs to dangle like colorful icicles.  Bucky has another Christmas tree that he’d gotten on clearance last year, with plenty of space underneath for all his guests White Elephant gifts.  Steve carefully threads box after box of old Christmas ornaments with tree hooks, handing them to Bucky for careful placement on the five-foot fake pine.  They wind the whole thing in silver and gold garland when they’re done.  Bucky’s got a gold foil star to put on top at the end, and they step back to admire the room.      

“Gorgeous house,” Bucky drawls, pulling Steve in close, “Gorgeous guy.  I’m livin’ the dream.”

“Sap,” Steve gripes, but he lets Bucky plant a big wet kiss on him anyway. 

It’s almost dinner time, and Steve’s too exhausted to walk home in the dark.  So they order Chinese and watch _25 Days of Christmas_ in the middle of all the holiday splendor of Bucky’s apartment.  Spicy chow mein and a snuggly boyfriend do wonders for Steve’s sinuses, and he’s nodding off before he even gets his fortune cookie.


	3. Chills

Steve plans to spend most of the next day inside.  “Plans” being the operative word in that sentence. 

It’s the twenty-third, which means Bucky is going to Queens for the day, to bake Christmas cookies.  One of Bucky’s nieces had explained this very serious family tradition to Steve when Bucky had brought him to his sister’s house for Thanksgiving.  Bucky and Rebecca spend the whole day making cookies, and at the end of the day they split the profits.  Bucky uses his share of baked goods as snacks for his annual Christmas Eve bash.

The Christmas party.  More than anything else, Steve _has_ to be better for Bucky’s party.  It’s the highlight of Bucky’s holiday.  Steve knows this for a fact, because when he’d mentioned to Natasha that Bucky had invited him to essentially co-host, her eyes had gotten big and round.  She and Sam Wilson had taken Steve out for coffee and explained to him just how important this party was to Bucky, and how serious Bucky must be about Steve to include him in the planning.

Bucky lost his arm long before Steve met him.  Five years ago this year, in fact.  Steve and Bucky had spent a long, quiet day together in August on what Steve eventually learned was the anniversary of Bucky’s unit being ambushed.  In halting installments Bucky had told Steve about his injury, about the friends he had lost, and about his medical discharge and the slow journey back to health, physical and mental, that had followed. 

Sam and Natasha had added to what Steve already knew.  It had taken Bucky months to reach out to his old friends, and to make new ones through his support groups at the VA.  His Christmas party invitation had come as a surprise to everyone who received it, but the small gathering had proved to be a turning point in Bucky’s recovery.  Bucky was finally ready to start letting go of his guilt and his self-consciousness, and open himself back up to his friends and family.  Without that first Christmas party, Bucky might never have become the man that Steve would eventually fall in love with.

So Steve sees Bucky off to Queens with a kiss on the train platform and starts the short journey back to his apartment, determined to spend the day warm, dry, and well medicated.  He feels good, or at least no worse than yesterday.  He’s just gotta make a quick stop at the pharmacy at the corner of his block, then straight home. 

As with most well laid plans, things quickly go awry.

A cab splashes him while he’s waiting for the light to change at his first intersection.  Then the wind starts up.  Then a block’s worth of sidewalks are under construction, and Steve has to go around, adding ten minutes to his usual route.  By the time he gets to the pharmacy, Steve is soaking wet and chilled to the bone.  His nose is stuffed up good, and his lungs are so tight he feels like he’s breathing through a straw.

Steve lingers in the aisles full of cold medicine and cough drops, listening to tinny Christmas music and breathing very carefully while he waits for his inhaler to kick in.  He’s got Day-quil, Ny-quil, Robitussin, and two flavors of cough drop in his basket before he gets feeling back in his extremities. 

Steve drags his feet to the checkout line, and waits for the six people in front of him to pay for their last minute stocking stuffers, to the tune of the homophobic Salvation Army bell and a chest rattling cough.

When he finally emerges from the pharmacy it’s only to be immediately doused with freezing wet snow.  Steve does his best to keep his chest covered as he navigates the now slippery sidewalks, eyes squinted against the icy precipitation.  He still falls twice, soaking his jeans as well as the back of his coat, and adding to his soreness from yesterday’s ice skating.

Steve barely makes it home in time to take his regular meds.  He forces himself to drink a full glass of water before he gets out of his wet clothes and crawls into bed, shivering uncontrollably.

His phone buzzes.  It’s a text from Bucky.  There’s a picture of Steve’s boyfriend, showing off a fresh tray of cookies, with a niece on either side of him.

_Anne and Margaret say hi! Can’t wait to see you tomorrow_

_< 3 Bucky_

Steve’s smile is interrupted by a wet cough that leaves him breathless.  He sends a quick response to Bucky and burrows deeper into his blankets.

He has to be better by tomorrow night.  He just _has_ to.

Steve sinks into a restless sleep before he realizes that he never took any more cold medication. 


	4. Total Body Misery

Steve wakes up gasping just after dinner time.  He feels chilled but his eyes are burning and his mouth is dry and stale.  He stumbles into his kitchen with his quilt wrapped around his shoulders, and swears when he sees the untouched pharmacy bag still waiting for him on the counter. 

Steve feels disgusting.  His nose is running freely, his eyes are crusty, and he’s sweaty despite his cold fingers and toes.  Steve pops two Ny-quil and puts some bread in the toaster, even though his appetite is nonexistent.  He sits in his tiny kitchen and wants to cry.

He’s feverish.  He’s congested.  His joints ache.  Steve has the flu.

Steve forces himself to take a hot shower, and he breathes a little easier as the steam opens up his airways.  He doesn’t stay in too long, the hot water and messed up sinuses making his head swimmy, but at least he’s warmed through when he puts on fresh pajamas and trudges back to bed.  His pill box and a glass of water are ready to go at his bedside. 

The Ny-quil makes its way through Steve’s system quick enough, and his eyelids are growing heavy.  He sets his phone on silent, and falls back asleep, if not hopeful, then at least with a strong sense of denial.

* * *

 

When Steve finally wakes up, bleary, clammy and congested, the room is pitch dark.  Steve shakes, his head, confused, before he catches sight of his bedside alarm clock.  The mocking red numbers blink at him.  It’s six forty-five.  It’s six-forty five on December  _twenty-fourth_ .

“No, no, _no,”_ Steve mumbles, digging through his tangled bed sheets for his cell phone.  He has four missed calls and six text messages. 

He’s late.  He’s missing the party.  He’s gotta get up-get dressed-he can still make it-

Steve sits up too fast and his vision gets spotty for a second.  He tries to take a deep breath and his reward is a phlegmy cough and ringing ears.

Steve’s not going anywhere.

He’s got a vague recollection of waking up to take his daily meds that morning, with an empty spot in his pillbox to corroborate his theory.  That’s about the only thing Steve has going for him right now.  His phone lights up again with another text from Bucky.

_R u coming??  Im getting worried here_

All of Steve’s flu symptoms are nothing compared to the realization that he has to call Bucky.  He was supposed to be there to help set up, and pick the music, and finally meet all the people Bucky’s been helping at the VA.  And now despite his best efforts he’s gonna have to cancel.  Steve eyes the twinkling lights of the miniature Christmas tree that Bucky helped him set up in the corner of his room and wants to die.

There’s three rings before Bucky picks up.  There’s a ton of chatter on the other side of the line.  The party’s already started without him.

“Buck,” Steve croaks, “’m sorry Buck.”

“Steve?” Bucky’s voice is hard to hear over the sounds of the party going on in the background.  “Where are you?  I was about to send out a search party.”

“M’sick,” Steve tries to admit, but Bucky is talking to somebody on the other side of the line.

“Shh-no it’s Steve,” Bucky says to someone, probably Nat or Sam, “I don’t _know_ what’s taking him, why do you think I’m on the phone- Hang on, Stevie lemme get somewhere quiet.”

“Okay,” Steve mumbles.  There’s a steady soundtrack of laughter and holiday music over the line.  It leaves Steve feeling lonely and cold.

The noise finally dims as Steve hears the sound of a door closing.

“What’s up, baby?” Bucky asks, “I thought you were coming at five.”

“I’m sick, Buck,” Steve confesses, hating the tremble in his own voice.  It’s so fucking _embarrassing._  

“What?”  Bucky’s voice is soft with disbelief, “But-I just saw you.  Yesterday.  You were just fine.”

“I was faking,” Steve says, “I thought I could fight it off in time for the party, but I feel horrible.”  His admission is punctuated by a long hacking cough.

“You sound awful,” Bucky admits once Steve gets his breath back.  His voice is light, but Steve can hear the disappointment hanging after his words.

“I think the ice skating maybe wasn’t such a good idea,” Steve mumbles, and Bucky swears.

“Fuck, Steve I shoulda known better-I’m sorry-“

“No,” Steve cuts him off, “It’s not your fault.  I was tryin’ to put up a front so I wouldn’t mess up our date.  It was stupid and now I’m stuck at home.  ...Serves me right.”

“You mean you’re not comin’ at all?” Bucky asks, and god it breaks Steve’s heart, “I mean, nobody would mind-I could put some blankets on the couch and you could come-“

“No way,” Steve interrupts, voice hoarse, “You don’t need me being sick and awful in the middle of your party.  I know how special it is to you, Buck.  I’d just ruin it.”

“Steve, _no-“_

Steve’s throat is tight, guilt and asthma doing a number on his breathing.  He can hear more than one person calling Bucky’s name on the other side of the line.

“You have fun,” he says, trying to throw a smile into his weak voice, “Say hi to everybody for me, and I’ll uh, I’ll try and call you tomorrow.  Merry Christmas Eve, baby.” 

Steve hangs up before Bucky put together a rebuttal, and collapses back onto his sweaty pillows, shivering.   When his phone immediately starts ringing again, Steve ignores the tinny “Santa Baby” Bucky had programmed as his personal ringtone. 

Steve allows himself the few fat tears of self-pity that trail their way down his uneven nose.  He pulls his sheets up around his neck and tries to get comfortable, but the apartment is cold even though Steve’s skin feels too hot. 

Bucky doesn’t call again, and Steve pretends that he’s relieved.  There’ll be plenty of hosting duties to distract Bucky from his absence.  Hopefully he won’t miss Steve at all.


	5. Gingerale

 Steve’s just finished another round of cold meds when his doorbell buzzes.  He shuffles to the front door, with sore joints and head swimming.  When he sees who’s on the other side of the peep hole, Steve can’t get the door open fast enough.

“Buck?”

“Sorry it took me so long,” Bucky says breathlessly, “But I was a little drunk and it took me forever to get a cab.”

Steve’s half certain he’s in the middle of a fever dream. 

“I brought ginger ale,” Bucky offers, holding up a worn out reusable grocery bag, “And those tissues you like, with the Vick’s in ‘em, and some cookies if you’re hungry-”

“What are you doin’ here?” Steve interrupts, and he must give the wrong impression because Bucky falters.

“I-I’m here to take care of you,” he says, “Unless you don’t want- I mean-maybe this was stupid-“

“ _No,”_ Steve objects, closing the gap between them and possibly knocking the wind out of Bucky.  Steve’s sure his grip is about as strong as a limp noodle but he’s clinging to his boyfriend for all he’s worth.  There’s slush from outside soaking into Steve’s socks but he doesn’t care because Bucky is _here._  

He’s here, and he shouldn’t be. 

“What about your party?” Steve asks quietly, still warming his cold nose in the thick knit of Bucky’s sweater.

“It’s still goin’,” Bucky presses another kiss to the top of Steve’s head.  “But my best guy needs me.  There’s nowhere more important for me to be than here.”

It’s probably the fever addling his brain, along with a big side dish of relief, but Bucky’s declaration is enough to tip Steve over the edge, and he bursts into tears against his boyfriend’s chest.

“Hey, baby, shh,” Bucky tries to soothe him, but that just makes Steve feel worse, “What’s a matter?”

“You’re just so am-amazing,” Steve stammers, hot tears catching on his eyelashes, “And I’m awful.”

 Bucky shakes his head fervently, putting his bags down so he can tip Steve’s chin up with his fingers and kiss the droplets of salt water off his cheeks.

“That’s a load of shit, Steve,” Bucky informs him, kissing him right on the mouth, flu and all.

“But,” Steve objects, sniffing as Bucky pulls away, “Everybody kept telling me how m-much you love Christmas, and now I’ve gone and messed it all up.”

“Nah,” Buck disagrees, offering Steve a strongly scented Kleenex, “I mean yeah, I _like_ Christmas, but Stevie, I love _you_.”

Of course that’s just sappy enough to summon a fresh wave of tears, and the next few minutes are spent clinging and kissing and telling perfect, amazing Bucky that of course _of course_ Steve loves him too.

“Jesus, I’m sorry,” Steve mutters eventually, laughing a little hysterically, “I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

Bucky puts his palm to Steve’s forehead and whistles lowly.

“You’re burnin’ up, that’s what’s wrong with you,” he says, rubbing Steve’s back, “Come on.  We’re getting you drugged up and back in bed.”

 

* * *

 

 

True to his word, Bucky puts fresh sheets on the bed and then tucks them both in, snug and warm.  Bucky turns on Steve’s tiny television, and puts the Yule log channel on.  The soft, flickering light and the steady rhythm of Bucky’s breathing ease Steve into a sniffle-y, but more restful sleep.

He dozes on and off, but Steve wakes up in time to watch the blinking alarm clock click from eleven fifty-nine to twelve AM.  Bucky’s hand is stroking through Steve’s hair, which is now damp with sweat.  Steve grins.  Looks like his fever’s finally broken.  He leans up to press a kiss to the underside of Bucky’s jaw. 

“Merry Christmas, Buck,” he rasps, surprised by the dryness of his throat.  Bucky chuckles, and helps Steve take a nice long drink of ginger ale.  The kiss he receives afterwards is sugar sweet, and Steve can tell Buck’s been in the Christmas cookies.

“Merry Christmas, Steve,” Bucky murmurs back.  They share a few more smiling kisses while Bucky switches the channel before settling in just in time for the first midnight showing of _A Christmas Story._

 

* * *

 

 

Once Steve is feeling better, they decide to throw another party to make up for the one he and Bucky had to miss.  Eventually, Steve and Bucky’s New Years Bash becomes more beloved and well known than Bucky’s Christmas party ever was.


End file.
